What
Claire and Peyton and Mina Raff talked about, longed for, Savina took.
He involuntarily shut his eyes, and, rocking to the motion of his
horse, heard, in the darkness, a soft settling fall, he saw an
indefinite trace of whiteness which swelled into an incandescence that
consumed him. They had turned toward home and, on an unavoidable reach
of concrete road, were walking. The horses' hoofs made a rhythmic
hollow clatter. Claire, with the prospect of losing her love, had
hinted at the possibilities of an inherited recklessness; but here was
a new and unexpected cause of disturbance.
Lee would never have supposed that such ideas were at the back of
Claire's head. He gazed at her, in spite of the fact that she had
ruffled his temper, even with an increased interest. In her direct way
she had put into words many of the vague pressures floating, like water
under night, through his brain. He would act differently; Claire wasn't
practical--all that she indicated couldn't be followed. It was spun of
nothing more substantial than the bright visions of youth; but the
world, he, Lee Randon, was the poorer for that. His was the wise
course. It took a marked degree of strength; no weak determination
could hope for success in the conduct he had planned for himself; and
that gave him material for satisfaction.
He turned to the left, at the road leading past his driveway, and
Claire went up the hill into Eastlake alone.
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